


Blood of the Reach

by thelightofmorning



Series: Tales of the Aurelii [9]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adultery, Cannibalism, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Class Issues, Corpse Desecration, Crimes & Criminals, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fantastic Racism, Genocide, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Incompatible Mixed-Orientation Marriage, Misogyny, Religious Conflict, Violence, War Crimes, but not really in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-23 21:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning
Summary: Laina South-Wind and Argis the Bulwark have been dispatched by High King Torygg to make peace with the Forsworn against the common enemy Ulfric Stormcloak. That means finding a way to spring Madanach from prison and neutralising the Silver-Bloods.Laina finds herself confronted by the sins of her mother and the darker side of her grandmother's people. Argis must step out from the shadows and become the leader his people, Nord and Breton, need.In the end, the blood of the Reach will tell.





	1. Hag's End

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, cannibalism, war crimes, imprisonment, misogyny, alcohol use, classism, criminal acts, religious conflict, corpse desecration, emotional trauma, child neglect, child abuse and mentions of genocide, rape/non-con, adultery, torture, incompatible mixed-orientation marriage, child abandonment and child death. This story runs simultaneously with ‘Lords of Bone and Ash’ and is the immediate prequel to the upcoming ‘The Summer King’.

_4E 199_

_“Officially, you’re researching Dragon Cult ruins in the Reach. I’m told that there are several significant ones in the north.”_

Laina crossed her wrists, palms flat to the chest to show both her clan-tattoos and to inhibit Destruction magic, as Argis repeated the gesture.

_“Unofficially, you are my agent in the Reach. Deal with the situation as you see fit, but Madanach must be brought to a place where he can negotiate with us, and the Silver-Bloods must be curbed somehow.”_

The Forsworn guard, clad in armour of leather, feather and bone that left little to the imagination and proved that most of the Reachfolk had Nord blood even if they were Breton-dominant because no one was shivering, came forward to examine their clan-tattoos.

_“The Reach is dangerous. May the Eight go with you.”_

“How did two Nords wind up with clan-tattoos and knowing our sign for non-aggression?” she demanded.

“I am Argis the Bulwark, son of Coroc and Elfgythu, grandson of the Hag Bothela, born of Karthwasten Clan,” the warrior beside Laina growled softly.

“Hmm… the colours match,” conceded the Forsworn before her eyes switched to Laina. “And you?”

“Laina, daughter of the female get of the Matriarch Catriona, bred of Lost Valley and Stag Crown clans, born of Cloud Ruler Temple,” Laina answered quietly. She’d faced off against innumerable draugr and even bandits, pirates during her Legion days, but nothing radiated menace compared to this one woman and her two friends.

The Forsworn’s brow furrowed. “You could just say Karthspire, woman. You didn’t need to name the Akaviri Temple.”

“That’s Sky Haven Temple, ” Laina corrected automatically. “Cloud Ruler is the one just outside of Bruma that the Thalmor destroyed twenty-four years ago.”

“I didn’t even know there was more than one. Huh. You have the look of Catriona’s get to you. Father’s blood?”

“Redguard father, Colovian-Akaviri grandfather, Cyro-Nord great-grandfather, Nord-Orc great-great-grandmother.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the Forsworn said after a moment.

“I hope not. That would make getting an interview with the resident Matriarch difficult,” Laina observed ruefully.

“You’re in the Reach, dear. Our version of damnation’s a lot different to the lowlanders’.” The Forsworn guard nodded and the other two stood down. “I won’t lie. Nords aren’t loved here, even if they’re of our blood.”

“I can appreciate that. I don’t even like my mother or her husband and I’m related to them.” Laina adjusted the sleeves of her robe down over her clan-tattoos. “I’m hoping I’ve drummed some sense into my brothers but…”

“You can’t save them,” the Forsworn said dismissively. “Follow me.”

They were led through a ruin to a stunningly beautiful valley tucked into the Haafingar Mountains. Laina gasped at the glorious vista below them. “It’s lovely!”

“Deepwood Redoubt’s probably one of the safest places for our people in the Reach,” the guard said softly. “No invader has ever breached its defences.”

“Catriona got through with a-“ muttered one of the guards until the senior one glared at him.

“Whatever mistakes Madanach and Catriona made, they rose to their positions in the old ways,” she said, tone brooking no argument. “Tarania’s prophecy may have been proven true, but it doesn’t invalidate the steps they took to lead our people.”

“Prophecy?” Laina dared to ask as they walked through the vale, Forsworn gathering to point and mutter at the two Nords.

“Tarania foretold the fall of Madanach and the use of the Thu’um to break the gates of Markarth,” the guard said with a sigh. “She was the High Priestess of Hircine that your granma killed to get the job.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Laina said awkwardly.

“Don’t be. It’s the way of the Hunt-Lord.” The guard gave Laina’s hands a sideways glance. “Which of the Right-Hand Gods is your patron?”

“I worship Kynareth.”

“Yet you wield Wabbajack.” It wasn’t a question.

“My ancestry is complicated. The Nord-Orc great-great-granma became an aspect of Sheogorath after the Oblivion Crisis,” Laina admitted.

“You have _god-blood_?” the guard yelped.

“No! The ascension happened after my great-grandfather was born. But she still looks out for us, in her way.” Laina rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously. “Most of my family, barring the Reach lot, are mad, sad and bad to know.”

“Her da’s side are the Aurelii,” Argis supplied helpfully.

“Never heard of them,” the Forsworn guard observed.

“I think I’ve died and gone to Aetherius,” Laina muttered. “Everyone else knows them.”

Hag’s End was a place of study, worship and meeting for the Hagravens of the Reach. Laina was surprised to see Nords, High Rock Bretons and even a few Altmer among the apprentice witches and senior Hags. “Matriarch,” the guard said apologetically to the Hagraven who was puttering over a mixture on the alchemy table. “I’ve brought Argis mac Coroc and… Laina mac Catriona here to meet you.”

“Give me a moment,” croaked the creature who was smaller and finer-boned than Laina’s grandmother. “This damn resin won’t set.”

Laina examined the mixture with a professional eye. “Are you mixing juniper and snowberry, if I may ask, ma’am?”

“I am.”

“There’s your problem. Juniper and snowberry have no alchemical properties in common. If you’re trying to make an enchantment-fortifying mix as a resin, you’ll have better luck with spriggan sap.”

A few of the witches gasped as the Hagraven turned around to bestow a malevolent gaze on Laina. “Know more on alchemy than I do?”

“I don’t know. I might be considered Master-level by the Synod but that doesn’t mean I know everything. I do know, however, juniper and snowberry can’t gel together because they have nothing in common.” Laina wondered if she should have kept her mouth shut.

“One of Lost Valley’s blood developing humility! Truly, we are near the end of days,” the Hagraven said after a moment. “Come to study here, lass? We know magics the Imperial Synod can only dream of.”

“If I have the time, I’d like to. But I was sent here as an emissary from the Ard Ri of the lowland Nords,” Laina answered softly.

“The boy-king wants to speak to us?” The Hagraven seemed torn between amusement and suspicion.

“The King in Rags dispatched me to carry a message to the Ard Ri of the lowlands that if he were freed and the Silver-Bloods removed, they might be able to make common cause against Ulfric Stormcloak,” Argis announced.

“Torygg’s wife’s grandfather was Wind Peak Clan in the Sunset Lands. His own mother was Idgra, sister to Idgrod Ravencrone,” Laina added.

“So Feredach and Idgrania managed a few connections,” the Hagraven said dismissively. “Does Torygg promise freedom for the Reach then?”

“The Empire won’t let him go that far, but I think he wants to put a Reach-blood line in as Jarl,” Argis said quietly.

“I see.” The Hagraven removed the ruined resin and poured it into a waste jar. “I won’t help you but I won’t stop you. Many of the central clans don’t recognise Madanach’s authority and since they were the ones ravaged the worst by the Stormcloaks, they will attack, even if you’re of the blood.”

“Are we permitted to defend ourselves?” Laina asked. “I don’t want to pick fights but I have no desire to die.”

“Try to keep the casualties to a minimum, lass. You don’t need blood feuds if you’ve managed to free Madanach.” The Hagraven studied her intently. “There’s something different about you.”

“Her great-great-granma is the Madgoddess,” the guard explained.

“That’s not it but it explains why she had the guts to walk up to a Forsworn encampment.”

“Officially, I’m here to study Dragon Cult ruins,” Laina said. “Argis is my local guide.”

“We have one of those wretched Word Walls just outside,” the Hagraven noted.

“May I see it?”

“Certainly. As I said, I won’t help you but I won’t stop you.”

“Tiid,” Laina breathed as she studied the Word Wall. Yes, it was glowing.

“You can read Dragonish?” asked one of the Altmer Hags.

“Only the words that glow. That one means ‘time’.” Laina shrugged helplessly. “I’ve been told the Kreathling Jarl’s line is descended from Felldir the Old, one of the Three Tongues that overthrew Alduin World-Eater. Perhaps that’s why I understand certain Words. Or I remember them from Cloud Ruler and my teacher there.”

“I’ve heard that certain noble lines of Skyrim bear what they call the ‘dragon’s blood’,” mused the Altmer.

“They do. That’s why the Greybeards on the mountain take their own from those bloodlines,” confirmed a Nord witch.

“Well, that makes some sense,” Laina said with relief. “I was beginning to wonder if it had been a gift from the Madgoddess and those… well, those come with a bit of a crack in your sanity.”

The Hagraven chuckled darkly.

“Trust me, lass. Insanity isn’t in your future. That’s one thing you don’t have to fear.”


	2. A Necessary Deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, misogyny and fantastic racism. My posting rate will drop after Monday because I have one final assessment and an inspection due.

An arrow buzzed spitefully in their direction but Laina batted it out of the air with a wave of her hand and a spell. “We’re just passing through, you idiots!”

Argis caught the next arrow with his shield. “They don’t care!”

“Can we get past them?” she asked, hands still glowing with magicka.

“Yes. Get on the other side of me. You’re more vulnerable to arrows.”

This was the third time they’d been fired at by hill-folk since leaving Deepwood Redoubt. Argis knew that the central clans had no love for Nords, not even of their blood, but it still stung they didn’t even bother to give a warning before trying to kill them.

_Be honest,_ he thought grimly as Laina got on the other side of him, now protected by his shield, _they see the big Nord in armour and the woman in mage robes and figure there’s loot worth having._

They got past the camp and half-ran down the valley down to the blessed cobblestones of the road. Even the central clans wouldn’t attack the Imperial highway from Whiterun to Markarth, not when it meant that Legionnaires would scour the nearby hills and show no mercy to any Reacher found, no matter their allegiance. Most of the lowlands felt the Reachfolk were vermin who needed to be eradicated.

“Don’t worry, it’s a relatively straight run to Markarth,” he assured the tight-lipped mage. “I’d like to stay in Karthwasten for the night. Ainethach is neutral in the whole mess but two of his kids work in Understone Keep, so he’ll have a good idea of the political situation.”

“You’re the local guide,” she said, rolling her left shoulder with a grimace. “Kynareth knows I’m trying to avoid fatalities, but the Legionnaire in me just wants to throw an ice spike at those idiots.”

“It’s natural. Even the Ard Ri couldn’t entirely keep that lot under control when he ruled the Reach.” Argis peered ahead through the mist that drifted over the rough grey-green hills. “I think we’re near the Karthwasten turnoff.”

They were and within the hour, they were entering the village, only to be confronted by Ainethach cursing out five Silver-Blood mercenaries led by a scumbag mercenary Argis knew as Atar.

“I want you sellswords out of my mine,” Ainethach was telling Atar.

“Watch your tongue, native. We'll leave when we're sure there are no Forsworn here,” sneered the Nord mercenary.

“Oh, and when would that be, I wonder? When I sell my land to the Silver-Bloods?” Ainethach asked acidly.

“The Silver-Bloods have made you a very generous offer for this pile of dirt. I suggest you take it,” Atar suggested, placing his hand on his sword-hilt.

“Piss off, Atar,” Argis barked. “Ainethach’s made it clear he’s not selling, so clear out!”

“If it isn’t Argis the fucking Bulwark, champion of the ungrateful natives and traitor to his own race,” Atar retorted. “What can you and that whore in the mage robes do about it? We’re not leaving until that mine is signed over to the Silver-Bloods- ACK!”

Laina’s ice spike appeared in his eye and the mercenary fell with a clatter, screaming his head off.

“Now, do any of you idiots want to die for whatever pay the Silver-Bloods are giving you?” the sorceress asked in a voice as chill and grim as the winds off the Sea of Ghosts. “If not, I suggest you consider the employment opportunities in another Hold, _now_.”

“Ice Spike’s an Apprentice spell!” smirked another sellsword. “You can’t take all of us!”

Laina threw a Fire Rune in front of him as he charged, then followed it up with Chain Lightning that arced from target to target among the other three. They collapsed, screaming in pain, easy prey for Argis as he waded in and finished off all five with a few thrusts of his dwarven sword.

He took pleasure in watching the light die in Atar’s eye after twisting the sword in his throat.

“I’m grateful, but you two could be in trouble,” Ainethach said anxiously when it was done.

“Strip ‘em and dump them over the hill,” Laina suggested, jerking her thumb the way they’d come. “There’s a Forsworn camp none too distant that tried to kill us for our stuff.”

“Better yet, if we just dump the corpses as-is, the Forsworn won’t raid us for a few months ‘cause they’ll take it as tribute,” suggested Ragnar the miner.

“Do what you will.” Laina massaged her fingers with a grimace. “I got fat and lazy in Solitude. All-day spellcasting shouldn’t be exhausting me like this.”

“If that’s your ‘fat and lazy’, I’d hate to see you in your prime,” Ainethach said fervently. “Come in, come in! Leave Ragnar and the others to deal with the corpses.”

Karthwasten Hall was still warm and cosy, though sparser than Argis recalled. “Tribute problems?” he asked quietly.

“No, it’s the fuck-,” Ainethach glanced at Laina and swallowed the curse, “the Silver-Bloods. Kolskeggr was taken over by a renegade Briarheart and I can’t use their smelter, so my ore goes to Markarth and those thieving bastards charge half the pure silver!”

“How do you know the Briarheart’s a renegade?” Argis asked as he hung his sword and shield from the rack by the door.

“Because we both know Madanach’s orders are not to attack the roads, and guess what this idiot’s doing?” Ainethach went over and checked the kettle of soup on the hearth. “I think the King in Rags is losing his grip, honestly, if his orders are being flouted so blatantly.”

“The Ard Ri of the Nords wants to negotiate with the Ard Ri of the Reach,” Argis said quietly.

Ainethach gave a short laugh. “Why?”

“Ulfric. Enemy of his enemy,” Laina said softly. “I’m here as his emissary and agent. Officially, I’m studying Dragon Cult ruins. Unofficially, I’m to curb the Silver-Bloods.”

“Laina South-Wind, granddaughter of Catriona,” Argis introduced.

Ainethach studied Laina frankly. “Yes, you look like your mother.”

“A fact neither of us are pleased about,” Laina sighed.

“How are things in Markarth?” Argis asked as they all sat down.

“Bad. Forsworn killings are increasing yet oddly, they’re all enemies of the Silver-Bloods. Igmund is becoming more delusional about the state of the streets. Raerek is still getting stamina potions from your grandmother and secretly worshipping Talos.”

“Could Madanach be playing along to lull the Silver-Bloods into complacency?” Laina asked.

“Possibly but…” Ainethach shrugged. “Markarth is a dangerous place to be, my dear. More so for the Imperial-aligned estranged daughter of the Stormsword… if she enters the city as such.”

“My allegiance is to Torygg,” she said flatly.

“Yes, I know. But Argis arriving with a powerful battlemage after going to Solitude to run errands for the Jarl’s court will raise suspicions,” Ainethach warned.

“I’m escorting a known expert on Dragon Cult ruins-“ Argis began, only to be silenced eloquently by Ainethach.

“Igmund might be delusional and the Silver-Bloods blinded by their greed, but none of them are idiots,” he said. “Now, returning with a battlemage might raise suspicions, but returning from Solitude with a gorgeous new bride? That will raise a few eyebrows from the court, envious sighs from those who yearned after you, but no suspicions.”

“What?” Laina asked in disbelief.

“The men of Argis’ family have a habit of returning with beautiful wives from the lowlands,” Ainethach said with a smile. “His father Coroc was married to a half-elven Nord named Elfgythu – ‘elf-gift’ in Atmorani – and his uncle Gillam married Eodwyn, a woman from the Rift. Arriving with a lass from… where are you from?”

“County Bruma,” Laina said weakly.

“There you go, County Bruma.”

“Okay, have you ever met an ugly woman with green eyes and white armour? Because that is batshit insane and I could believe my ancestress had a hand in suggesting it.”

“Her great-great-granma is the Madgoddess aspect of Sheogorath,” Argis said quickly.

“You’re _god-blooded_?” Ainethach asked in shock.

“No, ye gods, no! She had my great-grandfather first!” Laina ran her hands through her hair. “Argis, tell him this is insane. I mean, you’re handsome and all, but marriage is not in my plans. Ever!”

Argis found himself grinning. “Think I’m handsome, do you?”

“Everyone in Solitude was gushing over how handsome you were. If you didn’t notice, Jordis, Taarie and Endarie were blatantly trying to throw us together. Jordis suggested we even just…” Laina’s cheeks flamed crimson.

“If Argis was a common mercenary or even guard, you could pretend to have hired him,” Ainethach said gravely, though there was a twinkle in his eye. “But he is a huscarl, Laina. That means he’s not just hired. His allegiance is given to one person, even above the Jarl.”

“I suppose you’re going to next suggest I try to become a Thane of the Reach?”

“That would be a very good idea, given that diplomatic immunity is part of the perks,” Ainethach said serenely.

“This is insane,” Laina repeated. “It won’t work.”

“Well, if you have a better suggestion, I’d like to hear it,” Ainethach said mildly.

Laina threw Argis a despairing glance and he shrugged awkwardly. She was very attractive and competent, things he liked in a woman, and if the situation wasn’t so potentially dangerous he’d consider courting her. But who knew…? Maybe it could grow into something more.

“I’ll do it,” he said quietly. “It’s the best solution I can think of in a hurry.”

“This is insane but if there’s no other way…” Laina’s shoulders bowed. “I’ll pretend to be your wife, Argis.”

He shouldn’t be grinning this hard. It was a necessary deception. Who was he kidding? He liked the idea.

Maybe Laina wasn’t so bothered by the idea herself, if the blush on her cheeks was anything to go by.


	3. Kolskeggr Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism.

“Come, come, face the Forsworn!”

Laina flung an Ice Storm at the charging brigands, slowing them enough for a follow up Chain Lighting. Being Breton-dominant, they shrugged off most of the spells’ force, but it bought Argis enough time to hammer them with shield and the sheer power of his armour. His dwarven sword flashed ruddy in the early morning sun as it rose and fell, ending each of their lives. He pulled the blade from the last Forsworn and wiped the back of his free hand across his eyes. She said nothing about it.

“Ainethach was right,” she said, peering up at the mine entrance. “They’re attacking travellers. You’re not going to like this but…”

“They’ve disobeyed the Ard Ri’s orders. Until someone else comes along and walks the path of Red Eagle, Madanach is king of the hill-clans,” he said tightly. “That Briarheart’s working on the orders of a Matriarch. Probably Petra of Blind Cliff Cave. Granma Bothela said she’d overthrown her sister Melka, a loyalist.”

Argis shook his head. “Blind Cliff Cave’s on the way. We clear out this lot and we clear out Petra. That’ll make others think twice about disobeying Madanach.”

“This is very personal to you, isn’t it?” Laina asked quietly.

“My father was Briarheart to Melka. Petra would have killed him. My uncle Gillam held the gates so Madanach could have time to prepare a defence at Understone Keep. My aunt Eodwyn was cut down as a traitor by the Stormcloaks at Karthwasten. So yes, it’s personal.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Argis shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Let’s get this over with.”

Laina took point as she made the least noise and could quietly cast spells. The first few Forsworn were easily removed in the corridors but when they reached the first chamber, someone detected them and the element of surprise was removed.

Ironflesh hardened her skin and a Lesser Ward disrupted the firebolt thrown her way by a shaman. Argis fell upon the shaman, who threw another couple of firebolts at him before picking up a stone axe. Laina turned her attention to the other two in the chamber, summoning Chain Lightning to kill them both at once. One was an archer who was still standing after the attack, so she used Fury on him instead, ducking behind a rock pillar to swallow a magicka potion hastily.

By the time they reached the Briarheart, both she and Argis had picked up minor wounds and bruises, and her magicka was ebbing low. The man, a gaping wound in his chest tied together by hide strips to show the briar heart that beat inside the cavity, had activated a Flesh spell and both his hands shone with fire.

“Whatever the Silver-Bloods paid you, it won’t be worth the fee by the time I’m through with you,” he announced.

“You disobeyed the Ard Ri by taking over Kolskeggr and attacking travellers on the road!” Argis retorted as they both waited behind a wall.

“Ah, the Bulwark. Your reputation precedes you.” The Briarheart’s tone was meditative. “You would have done more for us taking your father’s bargain instead of becoming a huscarl.”

“My father served Melka. What happened to him?” Argis asked hoarsely.

“I killed him. It was a shame but Coroc and Melka clung to a king who had failed us.” He sighed. “I would allow you to walk away in the normal scheme of things but there are great things afoot. You can join us as a Briarheart in service to Matriarch Petra or you can die.”

“What about the mage with me?”

Laina let him talk as she downed the last of her potions, one that restored some of her magicka and another that increased its regeneration. She’d only get one or two shots before he retaliated and even with those potions, she didn’t have the strength to maintain a Ward long enough to be of any use.

“She dies. It will be quick. I have no quarrel with her,” the Briarheart said.

“I don’t suppose me being the granddaughter of Catriona will count for anything?” Laina asked sardonically.

“No. Matriarch Petra would love you as a sacrifice but I don’t want to take the chance you’ll escape.”

“Argis,” she said softly. “How exactly do Briarhearts work?”

“They’re undead, I guess. The heart keeps ‘em alive.” Argis gave her a sideways glance. “How much magicka do you have?”

“Not much, but enough.” Laina leaned around the corner and _pulled_ with the spell that had been one of the first she’d mastered despite the age she’d learned it. Telekinesis tore the briar heart from the lich’s chest and there was just enough time for him to look shocked before he fell down dead.

She fell to her knees, utterly drained, and Argis walked over to the Briarheart to decapitate him.

“Pavo and Gat won’t mind us staying the night,” he said as he stuffed the head into a sack. “If they survived, they’ve probably gone to Skaggi and Left-Hand Mine.”

“I’m out of magicka potions,” Laina admitted with a weary sigh.

“And the nearest alchemy table’s probably my granma’s near the Warrens in Markarth,” he said with a sigh of his own.

They set up camp in the corner where a couple fur pallets lay, making a meal of their remaining rations and the spices left behind by the miners or the Forsworn. Laina choked down a wheat and blue mountain flower gruel that had healing properties after handing the other one to Argis. They ate a meal of ale-soaked dried meat and Legion hardtack. Afterwards, exhausted, she curled up and fell asleep.

…

Argis pulled the blanket of the pallet a bit higher on Laina, smoored the fire and lay down on the other one, looking up at the traceries of gold embedded in the cavern ceiling.

Killing his kin was always hard and today had been harder than most. He’d avenged his father… but Coroc had been dead for years. The Briarhearts were dead men who just didn’t lay down in their graves. Well, Petra was weaker, because the Matriarchs could draw on the strength of their servants when necessary. Maybe despite the lack of magicka potions, they could win tomorrow.

He’d known from the start that Laina was adept in every School of magic permitted to a Synod mage and had a high level of proficiency in Conjuration even though that was a no-no, yet he’d been unprepared for how easily she’d ripped the briar from the Briarheart with one Telekinetic tug. His granma Bothela couldn’t match that level of skill, though she could probably teach the younger sorceress a thing or two about alchemy.

_The main problem with pretending her husband is gonna be how do I convince everyone I managed to get a woman like her to marry me,_ he thought ruefully as his weary muscles relaxed. Laina wasn’t perfect, but she was damn-near to it: an intelligent, competent woman with exotic good looks, scar down her face or not. Huscarls were the cream of the crop when it came to the guards but most of them were sworn to another person. They usually lived in their Thane’s house and probably died for them too.

Argis rolled over and studied the sleeping sorceress’ back. He’d gotten on board with Ainethach’s idea because he remembered what she’d looked like at the Burning of King Olaf. She’d called him handsome and blushed like a maiden. Now, a lot of the women and a few men in Markarth called him handsome, but that was because as a huscarl he was known to be a strong warrior who could protect someone. Love happened in Markarth but it was mostly arranged and protection. The Silver-Bloods took whatever they wanted, even if that person was married, but never someone from a respected warrior.

Argis allowed himself a tight grin as he rolled back over. Seeing those Silver-Blood bastards getting what they deserved would please him greatly. Having a hand in it would be even better.

He drifted off to sleep, secure that things would get better for the Reach.


	4. Matriarch Melka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, imprisonment and mentions of cannibalism and misogyny. Finished my assessments, but have an inspection next week (FML), so posting will still be slow.

They had to take the cave and the tower of Petra’s stronghold slowly because Laina had no more magicka potions and there was nowhere to brew more. Nine Forsworn so far and Argis promised more as part of Petra’s personal guard. “Why do so many serve the Hagravens?” she asked as she waited for her magicka to replenish fully. Even the regeneration enchantments on her mage robes were getting a workout.

“Partly honour. They’re the priestesses and spiritual guides of our people. Partly power. Partly because it’s the only way most of the hill-folk can strike back against the Nords.” Argis sighed and chewed on a strip of dried meat. “Our work’s cut out for us.”

“I’m seeing that,” Laina remarked, flexing her fingers. “Let’s go. I hope there’s a kitchen and pallets because I don’t think we’re going to get to Markarth today.”

Inside the bastion, an agitated Hagraven paced around in an iron cage. “Matriarch Melka!” Argis called low and urgently. “You’re alive!”

“Petra! Evil Petra put me here, stole my tower. Hate her, chew her bones!” spat Melka. “Let me out, kind, kind meat.”

“Why should we release you?” Laina asked, stepping up.

“Because, because you are a nice Breton?” Melka asked hopefully.

“I’m not a Breton,” Laina said dryly. “My grandmother’s Catriona.”

“Catriona? Catriona’s sons had no children and the female get had only sons!” Melka hissed. “Claim a better Matriarch if you wish kinship with us, pretty meat. Free me and I’ll be your granma!”

“I am Argis mac Bothela,” the huscarl said calmly. “Petra overthrew you because of your allegiance to the Ard Ri, correct?”

“Yes,” Melka pouted. “The Bulwark is here. Your father… Joric killed him.”

“And Laina mac Catriona got him.”

“You believe the pretty meat?”

“Catriona’s female get had a first marriage before she wed Ulfric. Laina comes from that,” Argis confirmed.

“There is more than one murderous fool in the world who’d marry that one?” Melka laughed croakily. “It is so outrageous it must be true. Release Melka and she will help kill Petra!”

Argis broke the rusty chain with his bare hands and opened the door. Melka stepped out, stretching her talons.

“Wring her neck, pluck her eyes!” she announced. “I come for you, Petra!”

When the rest of the Forsworn saw Melka loose, they scattered, leaving only Petra to deal with. “Hss, you have freed her, foolish Nord! She will eat your eyeballs when I am dead! Help me and you may leave.”

“I am Argis the Bulwark, son of Coroc, grandson of Bothela,” growled the huscarl. “You have defied your Ard Ri and slain my father. Your Briarheart is already dead.”

“Bulwark! A thousand deaths I will wring from you-“

Laina threw a Lightning Bolt at her, ending her threat as she screeched in agony. Melka followed it up with a fireball that turned Petra into a blazing ball of fire. Argis’ sword ended her misery.

“Pretty staff for the pretty meat,” Melka crooned as she pulled a staff of bone and feathers from the wall. “Kill something prettier with it. I will now make shiny new potions and collect eyeballs. Eyeballs are tasty.”

Laina accepted the staff. “Can we rest here, Matriarch?”

“Of course, of course, pretty meat. You are always welcome here. I could use an apprentice.”

Petra, it seemed, was something of a scholar as Laina found textbooks for Restoration and Illusion that she’d never been able to get a hold of in Cyrodiil while they set up camp. Melka puttered around at her alchemy table, making noxious potions that Laina _knew_ were poisonous from her grandmother’s teaching.

“We’ll let Pavo and Gat know tomorrow what happened at Kolskeggr,” Argis told her as he shoved Petra’s head into the same bag containing the Briarheart’s. “Then deliver these to Raerek at Understone Keep. There’s a bounty on Briarheart and Hagraven heads.”

Melka cackled. “Making coin from their heads? Clever Bulwark!”

“The Ard Ri of the lowlands has a mutual enemy with Ard Ri Madanach,” Argis told her. “He’s sent someone to bring the Silver-Bloods to heel as a gesture of good faith.”

“The Ard Ri of the Nords sent Ulfric to us,” Melka pointed out. “Has Ulfric bitten his hand?”

“Torygg is Istlod’s son and Ulfric’s made no secret of the fact he wishes to overthrow him,” Laina said in between pages of _2920, vol. 4 – Rain’s Hand._ “Enemy of my enemy, Matriarch.”

“It might work, it might work. Melka cares not. Let me tend to my tower in peace.”

“Leave the travellers alone on the road alone and we will,” Laina promised as she returned to her reading.

…

“You cleared them out? All by yourselves?” The Colovian miner reached into his beltpouch and pulled out a heavy purse of coin. “Thank you, thank you!”

“Argis the Bulwark. Should have realised you would be involved in this.” The Orcish one patted Argis on the shoulder. “I’ll send word to the strongholds to let them know you two are to be trusted.”

“Appreciate it.” Argis clasped Gat’s forearms as Laina accepted the purse from Pavo.

“Where’d you find a woman like her?” Skaggi Scar-Face asked as he strolled over.

“Solitude. No, she doesn’t have a sister,” Argis told him with a grin.

Skaggi’s glance went to Daighre as she lectured Erith about some prank. “I’m good, thanks. Be careful in Markarth. There’s more murders these days.”

“I will. The Hagraven and the Briarheart responsible for Kolskeggr have been dealt with. Left-Hand Mine should be safe.”

“Praise the gods. The orders for iron have increased tenfold and the Silver-Bloods have tripled the cost of using their smelters. Kolskeggr can process iron as well as gold.”

“Ainethach said something about that. Atar was trying to strongarm him into selling Suaranach to the Silver-Bloods for a pittance.” Argis smiled thinly. “Atar called my wife a whore and she put an ice spike in his eye. Now he’s explaining to Tsun why he’s a dishonourable piece of shit.”

Skaggi grinned broadly. “May the Shield-Thane of Shor cast him into the eternal abyss between the stars.”

“Amen, as the Cyrods say.”

“Are you really a wizard?” Erith, not chastened one bit by her mother’s lecture, had now run up to Laina.

“I am,” she confirmed. “No, I don’t turn children invisible so they can play pranks on their elders.”

“Aww.” Erith ran off to play with her dog Torom.

“Kids,” Laina said with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Daighre said apologetically, only for Laina to wave her hand dismissively.

“It’s alright. It’s just something I hear all the time. I can’t even turn myself invisible unless I’m using a potion.” Her smile was rueful.

“Plenty of work for a mage in the Reach. Damn Forsworn are everywhere.” Daighre sighed. “Most of us just want to live quiet lives.”

“I know the feeling,” Laina agreed. “I know it well.”

_We’ll have a quiet life once this is done,_ Argis promised her.


	5. The Safest City in the Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, crimes and mentions of imprisonment, misogyny, genocide and war crimes. The fun’s only getting started for Laina and Argis, lol.

_“Welcome to Markarth. Safest city in the Reach.”_

Laina was already sceptical about that claim and the attempted murder just as they’d entered the gates didn’t disprove her feeling. The assassin, a rough-clad Breton, died with a breathy “I die for my people” on his lips after she’d struck him with an ice spike.

“By the gods, that man tried to kill me!” blurted the red-haired Niben-woman as she thrust a silver and emerald necklace into Laina’s hands.

“Do you know why a Forsworn would want to kill you?” Laina asked quietly.

Her eyes darted around. “No, gods, I was just buying something for my sister…”

She bolted for the inn and Laina let her go.

“Nothing to see here, Bulwark,” one of the guards was telling Argis.

“Of course not.” Argis’ growl was laden with irony.

Laina’s fingers tightened around the necklace. Something was rotten in the state of Markarth.

“Gods, someone nearly murdered in the marketplace,” observed a slight young man with a Reacher’s traditional tattoos as he approached. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Laina assured him.

“I think you dropped this.” He thrust a piece of paper in her hands before blending into the crowds.

Laina opened the note. _“Meet me in the Shrine of Talos after dark.”_

Was this lad one of Madanach’s agents? Who knew?

“Argis, honey,” she said, ladling on the sweetness because now it was time to pretend to be his wife in earnest, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he growled, pushing his way past two of the guards. “You, acushla?”

“Same.” Laina tucked the note into her pocket. “Where’s the alchemist? I want to sell these herbs before they lose their virtue.”

Argis smiled. “We were going there anyway. She’s my granma.”

They headed down to where the smelters and forges of Markarth worked endlessly, Laina telling him what had happened under the noise of the waterfall and the wheel. Argis nodded tightly. “Sounds like Eltrys. His da was chief-rank, got killed by Forsworn for collaborating with the Nords… but the Silver-Bloods got his property. Convenient, that.”

“When I meet him, I’m going to tell him to stay out of it. He could get himself killed.”

“Tell him to take his wife Rhiada and go to Solitude with a recommendation. Elisif will welcome more Reachers in her staff.”

“I will.”

The Hag’s Cure was Bothela’s shop, hung with spriggan hearts and antlers in the traditional Reach style, and Laina was hit with a sense of nostalgia as the familiar scent of Hagraven feathers and juniper reached her nostrils. Argis’ granma was a wizened crone with the intricate tattoos of a Hag while his cousin Muiri had simpler tattoos across her nose and cheeks. “Argis!” she cried, giving him a hug. “Where have you been?”

“Solitude. Brought back a wife,” he said gruffly, returning the embrace.

Laina pushed back her sleeves to reveal her clan-tattoos. “Laina mac Catriona.”

“I wouldn’t be claiming your dam’s name if I were you either,” Muiri said, stepping back to assess her. “I used to live in Windhelm until Alain betrayed me.”

“From what I’ve heard, it’s the seventeenth plane of Oblivion,” Laina said with a sigh.

“Bjarni and Egil aren’t that bad, though the latter used to preach to me about the Aedra.” Muiri grimaced. “The Shatter-Shields were wonderful until their daughter was murdered. Then I was sweet-talked by Alain and he robbed them. Guess who got blamed? The Reach girl.”

“Muiri was fostered with Nord nobility after the Markarth Incident,” Argis said softly.

“Polite way of saying she was stolen like the rest of the children!” Bothela said harshly. “Come here, girl. I want to see what caught Argis when half of Markarth couldn’t.”

Laina walked up to the counter. “It’s, ah, complicated.”

The Hag looked deep into her eyes and Laina returned the gaze. It was Bothela who glanced away first.

“There is something old and hungry in you,” she said softly. “Woe betide the fool who makes it rise.”

Laina smiled nervously. What could she say to that?

“Granma, Laina’s the agent of the Ard Ri of the Nords,” Argis told his grandmother quietly. “He’s of a mind to join forces with Madanach against Ulfric. Since the men in my family bring home exotic wives, Ainethach thought it was the best way to bring her here.”

“Is that so?” Bothela smiled with amusement. “Maybe that’s what you two think.”

She didn’t elaborate, instead going to the shelves and selecting wheat and blue mountain flower, suitable for a wound-mending poultice. “The Silver-Bloods are trying to rip as much wealth from the Reach as they can. Everything’s going up in price, more people are being sent to Cidhna Mine for minor crimes and Mulush is beating more work out of the smelter workers for less pay.”

Argis cracked his knuckles. “I’ll attend to that last right now. I guess the bruises from the last time have faded enough that he’s forgotten the lesson I taught him.”

“We should get some silver together and hire the Dark Brotherhood,” Muiri suggested calmly. “They took care of Alain for me and the Redguard they sent was so handsome and polite! He even did the extra job I asked of him and wouldn’t take a bonus for it.”

“She’s got a crush on a man old enough to be her father,” Bothela said wryly. “Though I’ll admit, he was a handsome one, blue eyes and all.”

_Blue eyes, Redguard…_ Laina grimaced. “He’s definitely old enough to be Muiri’s father and when it comes to fidelity, he’s got the trustworthiness of a Nibenese goldmonger.”

“You know Rustem?” Muiri asked.

“How can I not? The bastard’s my father.”

…

While the women of his clan questioned Laina, Argis left his grandmother’s shop and sauntered down to the smelters where Mulush was barking orders at the hapless workers. When his meaty green fist rose to strike Omlaug for ‘laziness’, Argis caught the Orc’s wrist.

“How many times do I need to remind you that abusing the workers is only going to get you hurt?” he asked in a low, soft growl.

“Dammit, Argis, I’ve got Thonar on my ass about tripling productivity but he won’t give me any more money for it!” Mulush protested.

“They can’t do triple the work on half-rations, you fucking idiot.” Argis squeezed Mulush’s wrist until the Orc blanched mint-green. “Do I need to break something this time?”

“No, no!” Mulush was shaking his head, tears of pain leaking down his cheeks. “Get Thonar off my back, please!”

“He’ll get his, I promise. But if you abuse the workers one more time, I’ll break your damn head.” Argis shoved Mulush away in disgust.

“The Silver-Bloods will get you if you continue to piss them off,” Omlaug remarked as he walked over to fill his flask from the pool. “They’re planning something big.”

“Probably sending a bunch of silver to that prick Ulfric and his wife,” Argis said grimly. “How bad have things been?”

“Bad. Eltrys walked out after Thonar offered him fifty septims to fuck his wife but poor Rhiada can’t quit because the babe’s on the way. The Forsworn are damn near killing everyone. We’ve got rattles and ataxia in the Warrens again. Igmund won’t even see any Reachman.” Omlaug drank from his flask with a grimace. “I’d join the cult of Peryite in the hills if it meant those Silver-Blood cunts died of a plague, but Talos probably protects them.”

“Talos isn’t a god anymore, remember?” Argis squeezed his cousin’s shoulder. “Hang in there.”

He looked up at the hill where the Treasury House was. “Talos can’t protect you forever,” he murmured before returning to Bothela’s home.

…

“I can’t work them any harder,” Mulush said as he rubbed his bandaged wrist. “Not on the rations you’ve given me.”

“You aren’t saying that because Argis the Bulwark hurt you again?” Thonar asked pointedly.

“I’ve been saying it regardless. Tell Ulfric and Sigdrifa to pony up more cash if they want more from us.”

Thongvor scowled at the Orc. “It isn’t your place to tell us what to do. If you don’t like it, get a new job.”

“I might. I hear Kolskeggr’s been cleared of Forsworn and Suaranach’s hiring.” Mulush smiled crookedly. “Seems Atar called Argis’ new wife a whore and she killed him and the other mercenaries with a single wave of her hand.”

Thonar frowned. The attempt on the Imperial agent had been foiled by a mage accompanying Argis the Bulwark. The man had been dispatched to Solitude and came back with a bride who was a potent sorceress.

He opened his beltpouch and offered a handful of septims to the Orc. “What’s her name?”

“Laina South-Wind. Granddaughter of Matriarch Catriona. You know, the one who was Madanach’s right-hand Hagraven?” The Orc took the coin from Thonar’s hands. “The one they say is mother to the Stormsword?”

“What kind of blasphemy is that?” roared Thongvor. “I ought to-“

“He’s _right_, brother,” Thonar said with a weary sigh. “I investigated the claims myself. The ages, the times and the fact that when Catriona had Sigdrifa dead to rights, she couldn’t strike a fatal blow all fit.”

“I suppose Hagravens have maternal feelings too,” Mulush noted. “You better start releasing more rations to the workers, Thonar, if you want us to keep that work up.”

“I’ll think about,” Thonar promised. “Now go.”

When Mulush was gone, Thongvor predictably exploded. Thonar sat back, poured himself a mead, and let his brother’s temper run its course. When Thongvor was finished, Thonar cracked a smile. “You have to admit, it explains the Stormsword’s grace and charm.”

Thongvor laughed harshly. “I suppose it does. But the Stormsword’s daughter in our city…”

“She and her mother loathe each other.” Thonar examined his nails. “I have a plan, my brother. One that will put the Stormsword in debt to us… and possibly Falkreath in our hands.”

He spoke and Thongvor was nodding by the end of it. The Bulwark would need to die, of course, but he’d needed to die for a very long time. Only the fact he was so _righteous_ prevented them from being able to frame him. Laina… Well, after a few weeks in Cidhna Mine, she’d be most amenable – and a widow – to their plans.

Thonar leaned back and sipped his mead. A Hold for him and a Hold for his brother. What could be more perfect than that?


	6. The Taste of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, cannibalism and mentions of imprisonment, emotional trauma, genocide and war crimes. This touches on some of the trauma Laina experienced during the fall of Cloud Ruler Temple and the time she was trapped in the ruins. Will be focusing on this story for a bit as there will be a time-skip in ‘Lords of Bone and Ash’ in its next chapter.

Eltrys was, as he promised, in the Shrine of Talos after nightfall. Under the stern gaze of Talos, he was a slight shadow in rough garments, his twisting clan tattoos almost demonic in the poor light. Laina gestured and a pair of magelights appeared in close orbit around the former smelter worker, making him start.

“Why did you want to meet?” she asked, Argis a hulking shadow in her wake.

“I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems, but after that attack in the market, I'm running out of time,” he said, spreading his hands helplessly. “You want answers? Well so do I. So does everyone in this city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he's a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess.”

“So the Silver-Bloods _are_ using the Forsworn – or people who believe they are Forsworn – to assassinate their enemies,” Argis mused aloud.

Eltrys’ eyes widened. “You know?”

“Some of it.” Laina pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Take this, get your wife and go to Solitude. Present yourself to Jordis the Sword-Maiden at the Blue Palace and she’ll find work for you both.”

“I-I just can’t leave-“

“You stay, you’ll die,” Argis said bluntly. “Queen Elisif’s ma was Sunset clan-blood, so she’ll probably find a place for you in her own household.”

Eltrys closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and exhaled explosively. “You’re right. If you want more answers, investigate Nepos the Nose, the Reacher foreman of the workers. All my trails led to him.”

He took the papers and a small purse for the carriage before fleeing the Shrine.

As the door closed behind him, Laina sighed in relief. “We have a lead and Kyne willing, he will have an escape. So what first?”

“You need to establish yourself in Markarth,” Argis told her, stepping into the circle of light. “It won’t be that hard. Igmund has no Thanes but Thongvor and Thonar in his court. Do some favours for the folk, buy ourselves a house, do a thing or two for the Jarl’s court. I suspect he’ll send you after his da’s shield.”

Laina nodded. “I see. What about Madanach?”

“The Ard Ri’s waited twenty-something years. He can wait a few more.”

Laina’s first full day in Markarth saw her deliver a ring from Kerah to Calcelmo, clear out a spider nest in the Nchuand-Zel excavations at the request of Calcelmo, hand over Bothela’s ‘Stallion Potion’ to an embarrassed Steward Raerek, and trade a Daedra heart to the Jarl’s smith Moth in return for an Orcish cuirass she set aside for selling later. She was heading back to Understone Keep’s entrance when she heard a Nord in fine steel armour berating the resident Priest of Arkay for not allowing access to Markarth’s Hall of the Dead.

“What are you hiding, priest?” spat the Nord in disgust.

“I’m hiding nothing. The Hall of the Dead is off-limits at the moment,” the cleric protested.

“First you take our god and then you take our dead!” The Nord loomed over him. “The Silver-Bloods will be heard!”

He stalked off towards the Mournful Throne, pushing Laina aside so hard that she staggered.

“Which one is him?” she asked, jerking her thumb at the Nord’s back.

“Thongvor. Thonar’s a sly weasel-faced…” The priest grimaced. “I’m Brother Verulus.”

“Laina South-Wind. Why can’t people enter the Hall of the Dead?” Laina rolled her left shoulder. “I have some experience with settling down the undead if you need it.”

“Praise Arkay!” the priest said fervently. “It’s… well… The corpses have bite marks. Human bite marks.”

“Flesh-eating draugr?”

“I’ve never encountered such a thing in my life. Not that I claim to be more than adequate at Restoration,” Verulus confessed. “Look, if you can investigate…”

“Won’t be the first tomb I’ve researched,” Laina finished.

Verulus handed her a tarnished brass key. “Be careful. It could be a Forsworn. Some of them are cannibals.”

Laina nodded and headed towards where the Hall of the Dead was. A series of antechambers off Calcelmo’s workroom, it seemed.

She cast Ironflesh, called Sun Fire to her right hand and Lesser Ward to her left, as she pressed deeper into the catacombs. There was no creak of bone or the guttural growl of a draugr.

“Not many people walk among the dead smelling of blood and magicka, but not fear,” crooned a low seductive voice from somewhere deeper in the tomb.

“I’ve laid more undead to rest than I can possibly count,” Laina said clearly, slowly turning around. “Quite a few of the living too if they’re daft enough to attack me.”

The voice chuckled richly. “No doubt. But I think you’ve done more than lay the dead to rest. How old were you, the first time you took a bite? Five, six? You looked at that dead body and you wondered… what does it taste like.”

A chill ran down Laina’s back. She wasn’t dealing with some garden-variety deviant here. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“_Please._ You’ve tasted human flesh. Or was it mer? I find Altmer taste a little like chicken.” Another low chuckle echoed across the tomb. “I’m not judging, my dear. You’ve found another one of your kind.”

Laina recast Ironflesh as she went deeper into the catacomb. She could see another copper door at the end. “I am _not_ one of yours.”

A small, drab-looking Breton woman in rough hide armour with the complex tattoos of a Reacher on her forearms and warpaint smeared down her face, emphasising her missing left eye, stepped out of the shadows. “That’s true. You haven’t come to terms with what you are. There’s no shame in what you did. You’re not alone.”

“You’re a cultist of Namira,” Laina said slowly.

“I am,” the woman confirmed. “Now that I’ve given you a truth, you owe me an answer. When did you taste sentient flesh for the first time?”

Laina shuddered in horror, horror she’d suppressed for over twenty years. “I was eight. The Thalmor had collapsed Cloud Ruler Temple on me and while I had enough magic to protect myself, I didn’t have enough to escape. I was trapped for three days and the only… There was an Altmer corpse. Thalmor.”

“Oh sweetheart.” The Namiran’s voice was sympathetic. “Mine was in the aftermath of the Markarth Incident. My family were killed, our camp destroyed, but I was hidden. I ate a Stormcloak, if it’s any consolation.”

Laina dragged a crooked smile from the depths of her horror and nausea. “So we can both blame Sigdrifa Stormsword? She abandoned me to die at the Temple and she killed your family.”

“If it makes it easier for you to live with, why not?” The Namiran looked around and sighed. “Honestly, I don’t like this. But our usual place of worship has been overrun by draugr and while I’m good, I’ve little talent for Restoration.”

“Are you attempting to recruit me for your cult or to clean out your place of worship?” Laina asked in disbelief.

“Both?”

“I swore to Kyne I’d never… well.” Laina shuddered again in horror.

“Namira’s much more understanding. But I won’t pressure you.” The Namiran folded her arms. “You help me clear out Reachcliff Cave and I’ll stop eating the dead Nords in their tombs. Fair deal?”

“Deal,” Laina said shakily. “I should let Argis and Bothela know where I’m going.”

“You’re Argis’ new wife? My, my, he has excellent taste in women.” The Namiran grinned. “I’m Eola.”

“Laina.”

Bothela was completely unsurprised to see Eola and seemed to know who she was – and who she worshipped. “Don’t get her killed,” the Hag warned the Namiran. “Or you’ll answer to me.”

“We’ll be fine,” Eola assured her.

“Be careful dealing with her lot,” Bothela whispered into Laina’s ear as they embraced. “Namira has Her place in the scheme of things but you aren’t the type to wallow in your own wretchedness.”

“I will,” Laina promised fervently.

It was a long walk to Reachcliff Cave and by the time they arrived, it was fully dark. Laina and Eola talked about a fair bit during the trip and surprisingly, the Namiran was a good listener. Maybe she was the confessor in the cult or something. Telling someone about the horrors of the fall of Cloud Ruler Temple, someone who’d been through similar terror and dispossession, was cathartic.

The draugr were small potatoes to Laina by now and Eola proved herself to be adept with Illusion and a sword. They powered through the walking dead and eventually reached the sanctum, where a shrine to Namira was set up. “Ugh,” Eola said with a grimace. “I’ll need to reconsecrate it.”

“I’m not going to ask,” Laina said firmly.

Eola sighed. “Dammit, I was hoping you could bring the next meal. That bloody Verulus would be nice. He’s repeatedly refused to allow traditional Reacher burials because we consume part of the dead to keep their strength with the clan.”

Laina threw up. It was too much for her.

The Namiran handed her a healing potion. “You didn’t know that? I saw the clan-tattoos and thought…”

Laina downed the potion and wiped her lips. “My grandmother is Catriona. Lost Valley apparently cremates their dead, ploughs the ashes into a special field, and eats the crop at a special festival to honour the dead.”

“That’s a Sunset clan custom. They had to change because the Duke of Evermore demanded it.” Eola patted her on the shoulder comfortingly. “I’m not offended, sweetheart. You’ve got a lot of lowlands muck in your worldview.”

“Thanks, but I… won’t be joining. I won’t say anything but I’m not… well.” Laina sank down into a seat, exhausted. “I mean, Verulus isn’t particularly competent, but eating a Priest of Arkay will draw unwanted attention. Possibly even Arkay’s Blade Irkand Aurelius. Why not chow down on someone who deserves it?”

“Sigdrifa Stormsword? It’s a bit hard for a Reacher to get into Windhelm for a snack,” Eola pointed out dryly.

“She’s my mother. I’d rather you didn’t eat her. You might catch something.”

Eola laughed. “Oh, you’re the sweetest thing. I can see what Argis sees in you.”

The Namiran sat down next to her, smiling slightly. “So, who do you think should be the main course at our feast of reconsecration? I mean, you should bring the meal yourself, but I respect your wish not to indulge in a good meal further.”

Laina smiled thinly. “How does a Silver-Blood sound?”

…

Laina didn’t return for three days and when she did, her expression was pale and a little nauseous. Markarth didn’t really notice because everyone was wondering who had managed to kill Thongvor Silver-Blood, leaving only his head on the stoop of the Treasury House. Thonar was beside himself in rage, Igmund had suffered a nervous collapse, and it was left to Raerek, Faleen and Argis to make sure the day-to-day business of the city was sorted.

“The cannibal won’t be eating your dead now,” Laina said with a hint of irony as she delivered a key to Brother Verulus. With what Bothela had told Argis, he knew something of what went on. He could only hope she hadn’t joined them at their feast. Namira was of the Left-Hand Gods, the lady who made old life decay so that new life could grow, but it didn’t mean he wanted to be wed to one of Her worshippers.

“Cannibal?” Verulus said weakly. “Spare me the details.”

“Oh, I will,” Laina promised.

The priest scurried off and she rubbed the back of her neck as Argis walked up to her. “I was worried about you,” he said quietly.

“I was in more danger from the draugr than I was from Eola,” she answered with a sigh. “Not that she didn’t try to convert me. In the end, we agreed to disagree. You’d be surprised how many prominent citizens of Markarth share her religious beliefs. For the love of Kyne, don’t eat Banning’s ‘spiced beef’ or Hogni’s ‘bloody beef’.”

“I won’t,” he muttered. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t kill her, though.”

Laina’s expression was bleak. “We have a lot in common. And no, I won’t discuss it, even with you. There are some things better left alone.”

Argis decided not to ask. “So, now what?”

“I’m going home, I’m going to take a long hot bath, and I’m going to sleep for a week. I don’t think I want to eat meat for a very long time,” was her answer.

“I’ll walk you home. Igmund’s sedated and so far, nothing major’s gone wrong.” He filled her in on what happened in her absence as they walked back to Bothela’s home. He really should look into buying Vlindrel Hall soon.

“So the political situation is… complicated.” Laina sighed. “Anything on Nepos?”

“Haven’t been able to approach him.”

“Dammit.” Laina shook her head. “I’ll need to go find some Dragon Cult ruins and look like I’m doing my job.”

“Valthume’s said to have a Dragon Priest, Ragnvald and Dragontooth Crater both have Word Walls, and there’s probably more,” Argis suggested.

Laina nodded. “I’ll go investigate those. Can you be spared?”

Argis grimaced. “I don’t know. Me, Faleen and Raerek are the only ones keeping the court from flying apart.”

“Dammit.” Laina sighed. “Do you know anyone I can trust?”

“There’s a mercenary, Vorstag,” Argis said reluctantly. “He’s said to be reliable.”

Laina nodded. “I’ll take him along. Eola would probably help me, but ye gods, it’s probably best I avoid her for a bit.”

“Agreed.” Argis wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m glad you didn’t join them.”

“I made oaths to Kyne…” Laina shuddered subtly. “Never again.”

Those words said it all. Argis’ grip tightened. What kind of horror had she lived, that she had something in common with a cannibal?

He didn’t ask. She would tell him or not. But he held her all the way home.


	7. The Heart of Dibella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, corpse desecration and mentions of imprisonment, torture, genocide and war crimes.

Vorstag was a plain-faced, brown-haired Nord whose scaled armour was well-worn but as equally well-tended. “If we’re going to be wandering around the Reach for a while, there’s a couple jobs I’d like to pick up,” he said. “Lisbet’s got a statue of Dibella that got stolen by Forsworn. She’s offering a good reward for that. And there’s always a bounty on Hagravens and Briarhearts. I’ve heard a rumour that a Briarheart up at Broken Towers stole a girl from Karthwasten a few days ago.”

“They did,” confirmed the slightly drunk Reachman next to them at the bar. “Fjotra. Emmon’s daughter.”

“It gets better,” observed the beggar Degaine, who’d snuck in while Kleppr and Frabbi were fighting. “The priestesses of Dibella got wind of the kidnapping, collectively shit themselves and went into retreat. Shame they left one to guard there. I coulda gone to worship Dibella again.”

“They threw you out for fondling the statue of the goddess,” the drunk said bluntly. “You should be glad the Sybil herself didn’t come out and render you impotent.”

Even in Cyrodiil, Laina had heard of the Sybil of Dibella. “Is the Sybil old?” she asked.

“Yes,” confirmed the drunk.

Laina paid for a bottle of mead and handed it to him. “I think I know why Fjotra and a statue of Dibella were taken. If my granma were here, she’d be ripping the Briarheart’s head off for the blasphemy.”

The drunk slammed the mead down in one long scull, then belched magnificently. “A holy crusade? Count me in! I’m Cosnach.”

Laina glanced at Vorstag, who shrugged. “He’s competent. When he’s sober.”

“I better check with the Jarl’s court before we go,” Laina said with a sigh. “I’ll stop off at the Temple of Dibella first. Maybe the priestesses will be a little more forthcoming.”

The outer chamber of the Temple was more austere than Laina was used to in a shrine to Dibella, though the main statue of the goddess was… realistic. Blatantly so. A young Breton woman with delicate lines suggesting the stylised shape of lilies on her cheekbones approached Laina. “Welcome to the Temple of Dibella,” she said in a sweet light voice. “The sisters are communing with Dibella. They can't be disturbed. You'll have to come back another time.”

“I know. The Sybil’s died, hasn’t she, and the new one is a girl named Fjotra from Karthwasten, isn’t she?” Laina asked softly. “That statue you ordered from Lisbet was also taken.”

“How did you…?” the priestess asked, hand to her lips.

“I’m Laina South-Wind,” was Laina’s response as she pushed back the sleeves of her robes. “I think I know what’s planned and if my granma Catriona were around, she’d be dealing with the Briarheart herself for the blasphemy.”

The girl nodded. “Let me get Mother Hamal.”

Mother Hamal was a handsome older Nord woman with a knowing gaze. “Child of Kyne, I should have foreseen you’d get involved in this.”

“I have a special talent for getting dragged into other people’s problems while I’m on my own business,” Laina observed ruefully.

Hamal laughed. “You do indeed! But while the winds of fate may blow you hither and thither, upon your will shall break the enemies of the world. Bring back our Sybil and Dibella Herself will grant a blessing to make your life a little easier.”

“Great destinies lead to greater funerals,” Laina muttered under her breath as she nodded.

Hamal smiled sympathetically. “Go with the goddess’ blessing.”

She met Vorstag and Cosnach at the gate. “You sobered up fast,” she said to the drunk.

“Lisbet made me drink a potion she bought from Bothela,” the Reachman said with a grimace. “If only it had been poison.”

“Given we’re going up against at least one Briarheart, sobriety will keep you alive,” Laina said.

“Laina!” Argis strode through the crowd, which parted for him. “I have a job for you from Jarl Igmund.”

_Climbed out of bed and the bottle, has he?_ Laina thought acidly. “Of course, my dear. His father’s shield?”

“Yeah.” Argis sighed, the force of his breath swinging strands of brown-gold hair from his eyes. “I hate you going without me but after Thongvor’s death, Igmund wants to keep me close. It’s apparently being held at Broken Tower Redoubt.”

“I came here to study Dragon Cult ruins and make new friends,” she said lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him. After a moment, he was kissing her back. He was quite good at it, actually.

“Come back to me,” he said softly as he released her.

“I will,” she promised.

…

“Are you sure she needs us?” Cosnach asked Vorstag after Laina tore the briar out of the Briarheart’s chest with one magical pull. They’d entered Broken Tower Redoubt stealthily, making their way through rooms full of sleeping Forsworn, and came upon the undead man pouring blood on the statue and shrine of Dibella in the top tower room, a little girl locked in a dungeon nearby. Laina had taken one look at Fjotra, thrown an ice spike at the Briarheart’s back, and when he turned around with fire in his hands she’d ripped his briar heart out.

Vorstag didn’t answer, instead walking over to where the girl was and smashing open the lock. “We’ve got you, little one,” he said gently. “You’re safe now.”

“How are we going to get out if the Forsworn wake up?” Cosnach asked. Was he the only one being sensible around here?

“I can cast Muffle on you, Vorstag and Fjotra,” Laina said as she collected the statue of Dibella, wiping it clean and putting it in her satchel. “Someone find Igmund’s father’s shield, please? The sooner we’re gone, the better.”

Two Forsworn caught them leaving but Laina’s Calm spell settled them right down. It wasn’t until they were down the hill from the redoubt that they stopped, tucking themselves into a little alcove under the drooping veil of some hanging moss.

“Cosnach, I need you to deliver Fjotra and the statue to the Temple of Dibella,” Laina told him. “Take the damn shield and give it to Argis so he can present it to Igmund.”

The porter blinked. “You’re trusting me with an important job?”

“We will be fine.” Fjotra scrubbed at her face. “Dibella will protect us.”

“I’d feel more easier with Laina around than the goddess,” Cosnach admitted.

“I have to investigate some Dragon Cult ruins. This was just on the way.” Laina folded her arms. “I can’t take Fjotra with me and you’re not up to facing a Dragon Priest.”

“So I really am touched by the gods?” the little girl asked. “I… always dreamed of a beautiful lady in a white dress with lilies in her hair.”

“That sounds like Dibella,” Laina said softly. “You’re the Sibyl.”

“You’re trusting me with delivering the Sybil herself to Markarth?” Cosnach asked in shock.

“Yes, I do,” Laina said calmly. “If you hurry, you can reach Karthwasten by dawn, rest there so Fjotra can farewell her family, and then be at Markarth by sunset.”

“I will,” he promised. He, the porter, trusted with a holy mission!

**_“Laina,”_** Fjotra said, her voice deeper, surer. A woman’s voice, not a girl’s.

“Yes?” Laina’s voice, for the first time since he’d met her, was unsure.

**_“Come to My Temple when you are done with the Dragon Cult ruins. It is well you prepare for the inevitable task ahead, but you will need My blessing before you return to Solitude.”_**

By the gods, Cosnach was hearing the voice of a goddess.

“I will,” Laina said weakly.

Fjotra smiled. “Thank you, Laina, Vorstag.”

“It was our honour, Sibyl.” Vorstag bowed with a flourish.

Cosnach exhaled gustily. “I won’t fail you, I promise.”

Laina smiled. “I know. Gods with you.”

And they were.


	8. The House of Horrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and mentions of sexual harassment, torture and imprisonment.

Thonar was not happy.

His brother Thongvor was dead, no doubt murdered by Forsworn scum from the hills who refused Madanach’s authority. Killed! A Silver-Blood, butchered like a common criminal! When Thonar found out who was responsible, he would destroy them, their families and even the memory of their existence. To that end, he ordered Madanach dragged in chains under the cover of darkness to the Treasury House. If the King in Rags didn’t give him a good answer, his head would adorn a pike at the gates.

Yngvar the Singer pulled the sack from Madanach’s head, leaving the barbarian blinking in the bright lights of Thonar’s office. Beitild was off at some party Lisbet was holding for the women of Markarth. Rhiada had disappeared along with that husband of hers before Thonar could kill the man. Had she gotten wind of his intentions? No. Even a pretty Reach tart wasn’t that smart.

“Did you give the order to kill my brother?” Thonar demanded.

“Oh no, I remember our bargain quite well,” Madanach said quietly.

“Yet you failed with the Imperial agent!”

“You can blame Catriona’s granddaughter for that. Efficient lass, I hear. Poor Weylin never stood a chance.” Madanach smiled thinly. “I heard about Thongvor. It’s awful to lose family, isn’t it?”

Thonar backhanded him. “Say nothing of my brother!”

“Yet how can I answer your questions?” Madanach asked, spitting blood. “I didn’t give the order. Whoever did, I will pray to the gods of the left and right for them.”

“The gods won’t save them from what I’ll do-“

The Cyrod accountant he kept on hand scratched at the copper door. “My lord, Argis the Bulwark is here.”

“Send him away!” snapped Thonar.

“Good luck moving Argis when he doesn’t want to be moved,” Madanach laughed.

Thonar scowled at the Reachman. He remembered the attempted murder of the huscarl two years ago, five men against one in the narrow alleyway in front of the Shrine of Talos. Argis, wearing leather armour and carrying a wooden shield. Five of his best mercenaries. Of them, only Atar walked away alive.

“You’re scared,” Madanach continued softly. “The royal clans of the Reach united in the Stormsword’s daughter and the nephew of Gillam of the Gates. Both of them Nords with a modicum of that honour you prate about but so rarely show.”

“I am not frightened!” Thonar drew his knife and stalked up to Madanach. “I could kill you right now.”

“And unleash the clans? Lose your pet assassins and have to pay Sigdrifa a premium to borrow hers? No, Thonar, my people are too useful for me to die.” Madanach closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Go on. Send me to the dark between the stars.”

Thonar snarled and turned away. “Why are you still here?” he snapped at the accountant. “I told you to remove the Bulwark.”

The Cyrod scuttled off and Thonar scowled at his back. “I’m surrounded by idiots and the incompetent.”

Madanach laughed. “I suppose that makes us two of a kind, Thonar, I suppose that makes us two of a kind.”

…

Argis wasn’t surprised to be told to leave by Thonar’s quaking bookkeeper. Because it wasn’t time to make trouble, he obeyed, walking down the street towards the gates.

“Excuse me,” said a Cyrod in the enchanted robes of a Vigilant of Stendarr as he stepped into Argis’ path. “Have you noticed anything unusual about this house?”

“Yeah, everyone says it’s haunted. Why don’t you go inside and get rid of the ghost?” Argis suggested. He wanted to discuss the very interesting tidbits he’d overheard between Madanach and Thonar with Bothela.

“I can’t go in alone. My partner was killed by worshippers of Peryite in the hills.” The Vigilant’s face twisted in grief. “You’re said to be a righteous man, Argis the Bulwark. Help me, please.”

“Fine,” he growled.

Inside, the house was as uncanny as the rumours painted it. Floating objects, a locked door and all sorts of unnatural happenings. Tyranus was damn-near pissing himself by the time they reached the cellar. Argis’ hand was already on his sword-hilt by the time the dark, cruel voice told them that one must live and the other die.

It was Argis who lived and went deeper into the cellar to be trapped by Molag Bal’s altar. As the Daedric Prince gloated about mortal greed and lust for power, he said nothing, only let the evil bastard talk himself out. When he was commanded to find a Priest of Boethiah who had been desecrating Molag Bal’s altar, he sighed, commended his soul to the gods and said, “No!”

The immediate response was pain that was beyond description and seemed like it would last forever. Then it stopped and Molag Bal demanded a different answer. Argis told him no. Rinse and repeat for several more times.

It was about the eighth or ninth time that Argis channelled all the agony into a battle-cry that rang from the stones itself. The yell echoed back and forth, intensifying, driving away the pain and encouraging his own strength. Ignoring the cruel spikes that cut into his own flesh, Argis gripped the gate and tore the rusted metal from its hinges with an ugly shriek that promised damnation.

He struggled up the stairs as Molag Bal threw everything in the house at him, making it to the locked front door. He threw himself at the copper until it suddenly gave way and he fell face-down in the street.

Hands caught him – Cosnach, accompanied by a little girl. “Where’s Laina?” he croaked.

“Hunting a Dragon Priest with Vorstag,” the porter said matter-of-factly. “What in the gods’ names happened to you?”

**_“It was Molag Bal,”_** said the girl. **_“Take him to the Temple. I will remind the King of Rape who is the patron of Markarth.”_**

The last thing Argis heard before he fell into unconsciousness was the sound of stone crumbling and metal screaming.

He awoke in the front room of the Temple of Dibella, chest swathed in bandages and Laina kneeling over him, Vorstag standing nearby.

“Thank Kyne – and Dibella – you’re alright!” she exclaimed, hands glowing gold as healing magic chimed around them.

“Shouldn’t… you… Dragon Priest…?” Argis asked weakly.

“You’ve been unconscious for a week,” Mother Hamal said quietly. “It was all we could do to purge you of Molag Bal’s spiritual poison, even with the help of Dibella and Her Sybil.”

“That filthy shrine is gone for good,” Sister Senna said with satisfaction. “We will purify the house and… hmm…”

“Make it a shrine to Kynareth?” Laina suggested.

“Yes.” Hamal’s nod was decisive. “The Mother of Men is revered by both Nord and Breton here.”

The head priestess chivvied most of her junior clergy back into the inner sanctum, leaving Laina, Senna, Argis and Vorstag behind. “Cosnach?” Argis asked.

“Back at the Silver-Blood Inn telling everyone how he was entrusted with a holy mission,” Laina said amusedly. Then her expression sobered. “Gods, Argis, if you’d have died…”

“Your job would be harder?” he asked.

“My life would be the emptier,” Laina said softly.

He lifted his hand and touched her cheek. It was enough, for now.


	9. The Lost Expedition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and mentions of cannibalism and torture. ‘The Forsworn Conspiracy/No One Ever Escapes Cidhna Mine’ will be the climax of the story, so we’ve got a few chapters yet!

“Vlindrel Hall. It isn’t much but it’s ours.”

Bothela breezed past Argis and Laina with a string of spriggan hearts. “Needs some proper protections. Pity we can’t stake a goat’s head out the front, but that might unsettle our Nord overlords.”

Vorstag and Cosnach brought in a straw mattress and fur blankets, a gift from Lisbet, for the stone bed in the main bedroom while Kerah and her husband Endon delivered a magnificent set of silverware in the Redguard style. Muiri was putting potted juniper, snowberry and lavender plants in strategic locations while a handsome smiling rogue with hard green eyes Argis called Bryn mac Gillam arrived with some truly excellent Khajiit rugs that Laina guessed were stolen. “Sorry I missed the wedding, lad,” he told his big cousin.

“It was a quiet affair,” Argis mumbled, flushing. He… was not a good liar.

“Married in the old way?” Bryn flashed a cheeky grin. “Does that mean she’s up for stealing?”

“Bryn mac Gillam!” snapped Bothela. “You will honour Nocturnal by thieving from the lowlanders, not your own flesh and blood.”

“I was joking, Granma,” Bryn grumbled. “Besides, given the Guild’s luck at the moment, I’d fall from the path and break my neck trying.”

“I’d heard the Skyrim Guild was having problems,” Laina observed. “What happened, you break a few mirrors to get twenty years of bad luck?”

“Delvin swears we’re cursed. Old bastard might be right,” Bryn sighed.

“You should go to the Twilight Sepulchre and speak to Nocturnal,” Bothela advised as she hung up a spriggan heart at every corner of the main room.

“What’s Nocturnal got to do with anything?” Bryn asked, his brow furrowing.

Bothela paused in her work. “Have you completely forgotten everything I taught you? Nocturnal is the goddess of luck and shadows, lad, the patron of the thieves and tricksters of the world.”

“You mean those stories of Nightingales are true? I thought they were fairy tales to keep the footpads in line.”

“Ask at the Shadow Stone and you might receive an answer,” Bothela said quietly. “You were born under its stars and to the Empress of Mirk and Gloom you belong.”

“Is Nocturnal a Left or Right Hand God?” Laina asked curiously. “My granma never got around to telling me about her.”

“Depends on the waxing and the waning of the moon. Waxing to full, she’s Right-Hand, Waning to New, she’s Left-Hand.” Bothela smirked. “Your granma, like most of the Matriarchs, was sworn to Hircine. My allegiance is to Nocturnal because I am the hidden Hag.”

“Not so hidden,” Kerah pointed out. “We know who you are.”

“Are you going to run to the Jarl and tell him that I’m a witch?” Bothela countered.

Endon snorted. “No, of course not.”

“Then I am hidden from the Jarl.” Bothela returned to hanging the spriggan hearts.

Laina ran her hands through her hair. Moving in with someone she might be falling in love with; it was a possibility she’d never dared to consider. Easier to bury herself in research than want to be courted when you were the last of the Aurelii. Torygg would need her back in Solitude eventually. Would she have to travel back and forth?

Someone knocked on the door. “Laina, Argis, you home?” asked Aicantar, Calcelmo’s nephew.

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“Praise the Divines!” The mage entered the house, dodging various people. “My uncle’s hit another snag with the Nchuand-Zel excavation.”

“What now?” Laina asked, eyebrows rising.

“We found what was left of Evoker Staubin’s expedition. Well, the sole guard who made it out until Nimhe ate him for dinner,” Aicantar responded dryly. “Our workers are refusing to open the door.”

“Can you blame them?” Argis asked.

“Not particularly, no,” Aicantar agreed. “But we need to find more Dwemer records for Uncle’s research. Laina, you’re an experienced researcher and battlemage of the Synod. We need to find out what happened to them.”

“Probably Falmer,” Vorstag opined, wiping his hands with a rag. “I’ve been into Dwemer ruins before.”

Laina had heard stories of the twisted subterranean creatures who’d once been the proud snow elves of Skyrim. “You want me to enter a ruin likely infested with automatons and worse to find out what happened to a group of idiots? I don’t recall Staubin being particularly competent or noteworthy.”

“Erj and Stromm were colleagues of my uncle’s and their bodyguards were Legion veterans,” Aicantar answered. “Uncle warned them but…”

“If there’s Falmer under the city, they could creep out,” Kerah said with a worried expression.

“Fine. Fuck me, why is everything bringing these problems to me?” Laina asked of the air.

“Because you and Argis have done more for the city than anyone else since the time of Madanach,” Endon said gravely.

“I’ll go. I’ve always been interested in the Dwemer,” Vorstag offered.

Laina pursed her lips. “Cosnach, when you get back to the shop, tell Lisbet I need Eola. She’s a mutual acquaintance of ours and very skilled as a nightblade.”

“I know who you’re referring to,” the porter said gravely. “Didn’t know you were friends with the likes of her.”

“We had some mutual unpleasant experiences we bonded over a few weeks ago.” Laina turned around to face Argis. “Are you up for a trip to the Dwemer deeps?”

Argis’ smile was grim. “Let them try to stop me.”

“So much for a quiet week at home,” Laina muttered under her breath.

…

“If you were going to drag me along, Laina, you could have at least provided something decent to eat,” Eola complained as they walked through the first few rooms of Nchuand-Zel.

“Plenty of bread and cheese,” Vorstag observed.

“Eola’s a carnivore,” Laina said shortly.

They found Stromm and his diary soon enough under a dead tree. “Yep, it was Falmer,” Vorstag confirmed as he examined the desiccated corpse. “I know the wounds of their weapons anywhere.”

“Falmer can die if we’re quiet,” Eola said calmly. “I have enough Illusion to make them calm or drive them to attack each other if need be.”

“Do it,” Laina ordered. “The more the enemy kills each other, the less we have to deal with.”

Eola favoured her with a smile. It was rare for a Namiran to have a true ally outside of the coven but while Laina was deeply uncomfortable with them, she also didn’t judge as she’d been in their position. She could have destroyed the cult and bought herself more recognition yet she had chosen to leave them be, even direct them to the odd Stormcloak no one would miss. The look of horror on Thongvor’s face as he’d become dinner still made her grin.

As for Argis the Bulwark, he was known as blood-kin and a son of the old ways as much as he dared to be. The Silver-Bloods had tried to kill him a few times but he was too good in a fight. They couldn’t frame him because he was known as an upright man. So they tried to choke him and make his family suffer. The huscarl’s rise to power was probably making Thonar very, very nervous.

Automatons, spiders and eventually Falmer attacked. Laina and Eola worked on crowd control while Vorstag and Argis dealt with them. Before entering the lost city, Laina had outfitted everyone in the best enchanted gear she could make with the soul gems Calcelmo had to hand. Muffle was a necessity and their gauntlets or bracers had enchantments to increase melee skill and Destruction spells as necessary. It turned out that Laina was one of those rare beasts who could weave two enchantments into one item. Eola hadn’t worn items like this since her days in Red Eagle Redoubt.

Eventually, the true reason for Staubin’s disappearance became clear: he was trying to activate automated Dwemer defences to stop the horde of Falmer in the depths of Nchuand-Zel. After meeting a Centurion that gave them steam burns and injuries that required every drop of Laina’s remaining magicka to heal, they managed to find the controls and turn them on.

It took a dive into the lake at the bottom of the levels to avoid the fighting Falmer and automatons, but they escaped, barring the door to Nchuand-Zel behind them.

Four very bedraggled adventurers emerged with proof of the expedition and not a few secret treasures hidden in satchels or robes or pockets. Calcelmo sighed regretfully, paid them a handsome sum for the journals, and sent them on their way. He was already muttering about new discoveries as they left.

Eola looked up at Igmund lounging on a throne that didn’t belong to him and licked her lips. A Jarl would be _so_ tasty. Pity that Thonar would step into the position if it was vacated…

She studied Argis and Laina. Or maybe not. The days of the Ard Ri were gone. But maybe a new dynasty with god-blood could begin. Jarl, High King, it didn’t matter who ruled Markarth. Only that they ruled well.


	10. The Silver-Blood Conspiracy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, imprisonment, threats of rape/non-con, sexual harassment, misogyny and mentions of torture, genocide and war crimes. We’re getting into the endgame, folks.

“You’re certain of this?”

Thane Erikur Many-Ships of Solitude rolled his eyes. “Of course I am. Torygg sent Laina South-Wind as an agent to destabilise the Silver-Bloods.”

“Isn’t it treason to tell me this?” Thonar asked, pouring his guest some more mead. Erikur was a scum-sucking servant of the Empire but he had his uses.

“Pfft, only if I get caught. Torygg has insulted me several times and his plans for the Reach threaten my own business. I _do_ control the shipping lanes from High Rock to Solitude, remember.” Erikur shrugged. “Personally, I’m philosophical on who rules, so long as I continue to make coin.”

“A pragmatic attitude,” Thonar said through gritted teeth. Gods but he despised this man.

After Erikur made his way back to the inn, Thonar sat back, steepled his fingers and considered his options. Laina was incredibly popular with the hoi polloi after protecting them from a swarm of Falmer in the depths below the city. It was a great pity, a very great pity, that Sigdrifa had discarded her so easily as a child. She could have been a true asset to the cause.

However, Thonar was a lot more pragmatic. Thongvor was dead but in Laina’s womb lay the best claim to Falkreath. She could bear a few sons readily enough and after a couple weeks in Cidhna Mine, she’d be only too happy to declare her marriage to Argis a sham and be his bride. That place had broken stronger wills than hers.

He finished his mead and went to the safe. Inside was the stalhrim blade he’d collected two decades ago. Most of them were of similar make and design and Laina was known for her own stalhrim weapon.

Thonar smiled. Erikur would serve one final use after all.

…

Laina cracked open an eye and saw a ceiling of silver-veined rock. Her right temple throbbed in pain, the rags she wore chafed skin marred by abrasions and bruises, and her feet were bare.

She sat up, making the pain worse, as memory rushed in. The guards kicking in the door, accusing her of murdering Thane Erikur Many-Ships of Haafingar with a stalhrim blade, and dragging her off as Argis yelled it wasn’t true. She’d fought them until someone – Yngvar the Singer – knocked her out. And here she was.

An application of Healing eased the worst of the pain as a filthy Nord man sauntered up to her. “Pretty girl like you could use protection,” he smirked. “You can’t do better than Grisvar.”

Laina called Sparks to her hand. “Unless you want your balls shrivelled by lightning, _fuck off._”

Grisvar laughed. “Better mages than you in here, wench. Why, we have the King in Rags as a guest!”

He sauntered off again and Laina rolled over to retch what little remained in her stomach out on the mine floor.

“Water?” asked a Breton man with Reacher clan-tattoos on his forearms. “Or would you prefer skooma?”

“Water, thanks,” Laina answered, accepting the small wooden bowl of musty water and drinking it like the freshest snowmelt from the Jeralls.

“Thonar got you, huh?” He sat back in his haunches. “What’s your clan?”

“My mother was Stag Crown and Lost Valley,” Laina admitted. “Yes, I’m the daughter of Sigdrifa Stormsword.”

“I thought that bitch only had sons with that cunt Ulfric?” the Reachman asked in surprise.

“She wishes.” Laina returned the bowl. “I’m Laina.”

“Braig.” He sighed. “How’d a daughter of a Stormcloak get framed by a Stormcloak?”

“I serve Ard Ri Torygg.” Laina used another Healing spell. “I was meant to try and contact Madanach. This wasn’t how I planned on doing so.”

Braig laughed shortly. “I imagine not. If you want to speak to Madanach, you’ll need to convince Borkul the Beast to let you pass. He’s not fond of skooma, so he’ll need a shiv.”

Laina looked across to the gate with an Orc against it. “I’m guessing that’s Borkul?”

“It is.” Braig rubbed his nose. “Grisvar’s got a spare shiv. Get some skooma from someone. He’s addicted to the stuff bad.”

“Thanks for the advice. Can I just set him on fire instead?”

Braig shook his head. “No, because the guards will come down here and… well… a pretty woman like you, they’ll have fun with. Assuming they haven’t already.”

“They haven’t,” Laina said quietly. “I’ve treated enough rape victims to know the signs of injury.”

She rose to her feet. “Thanks, Braig. It isn’t over until Kyne breathes us in.”

A prisoner named Duach had some skooma. “Never thought I’d see a Redguard with clan-tattoos,” he said with some surprise as Laina approached.

“My da was the Redguard. My granma’s Catriona,” Laina said shortly.

Duach winced. “Half the Forsworn blame her for Madanach’s fall and the rest blame her for not killing Sigdrifa when she had the chance.”

“She told me the story,” Laina said with a sigh. “Ironic that the family member with the most compassion and basic decency is the Hagraven.”

Duach laughed shortly. “I suppose so. Now you’re here with the rest of us.”

“Not for long if I can help it.” Laina folded her arms. “I need a bottle of skooma to trade Grisvar for a shiv to give Borkul so I can talk to Madanach.”

Duach smiled. “I could think of a way you could-“

Laina threw an ice spike at the side of his head, making the Breton flinch. “Never happen. I’m not allowed to kill Grisvar because it’ll bring down the guards and I’ll be damned before I perform sexual acts for skooma. Help me now and I will remember you when I leave this place. If you don’t, I’ll show you how like to my granma I can be when my back’s to the wall.”

“Pull that shit on Madanach and he’ll nail you to a wall,” Duach observed as he handed over the skooma. “It should be entertaining, if nothing else.”

Laina turned away. “You’ll see.”

…

“My wife didn’t murder him!”

Igmund sighed. “She’s the only woman in the Reach with a stalhrim blade, a weapon that leaves distinctive wounds. If not her, then who? Some draugr. Besides, she’s the daughter of a traitor. Probably tried to become Thane to worm her way into my confidence.”

Argis felt an icy calm descend upon him. “I’m a Thane too, remember?”

“Your service to the Reach is known. It’s a shame you were fooled by that harlot too.” Igmund waved a hand. “Now go, I have other things to worry about.”

“No,” Argis growled. “As Thane of the Reach, I feel you are harming our Hold. By the ancient laws of Skyrim, I challenge you to trial by combat for the Mournful Throne.”

Faleen gasped. “Argis, have you gone insane-?”

“Laina’s blade isn’t the only stalhrim weapon in Skyrim,” Argis continued, ignoring her. “And even if it was, she deserved a fair trial, which she didn’t receive. So I’m challenging Igmund to prove the justice of his claims upon my body – the one fight a huscarl can’t stand in for and the one a Jarl can’t refuse.”

“This is treason!” Igmund yelled. “Guards, arrest him!”

“STAND DOWN!” Argis roared.

The guards obeyed him and the warrior pointed his finger at Igmund. “Get your arse down here or be dragged from your throne.”

Igmund rose to his feet, Raerek looking sick next to him. “You think you can keep the Silver-Bloods in check better than me?”

“_I_ didn’t collapse when Thongvor was butchered. If you haven’t noticed, there wasn’t a lot of mourning when he died.” Argis smiled grimly. “I _know_ I’ll have better luck with the Forsworn than you.”

“I’ll mount your head on my wall!” promised Igmund and Argis just laughed.

Time was now.


	11. The Left-Hand Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, imprisonment, misogyny and mentions of genocide, rape/non-con, child death, war crimes and torture.

“Well, well, look at you. Your kin have turned you into an animal, Nord. A wild beast caged up and left to go mad. So, my fellow beast, what do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Revenge for any of your friends I might have killed?”

Laina’s smile was sour. “I don’t think you’ve killed any of my friends, Madanach. I am Laina South-Wind, bred of Lost Valley and Stag Crown, born of Cloud Ruler Temple, granddaughter of the Matriarch Catriona and agent of the Ard Ri Torygg of Skyrim. I set the coven of Namira to eat Thongvor Silver-Blood. I rescued the Sybil of Dibella. With the help of my husband Argis, I brought down the traitor Petra and restored Melka to her rightful state. Now that we’ve got everything straight, will you continue to be sarcastic or shall we speak, kin to kin?”

The King in Rags chuckled richly. “A fine slate of deeds, lass, a fine slate of deeds. But you might be of our blood and perhaps some of our ways, but you are not Forsworn.”

His expression grew sombre. “This was our land. We were here first. Then the lowlanders came and put chains on us. Forbid us from worshipping our gods. Some of us refused to bow. We knew the old ways would lead us back to having a kingdom of our own. That is who we are. The Forsworn. Criminals in our own lands. And we will cut a bloody hole into the Reach until we are free.”

“You succeeded once,” Laina said quietly.

“Yes, and I was betrayed within and without. You’d be Sigdrifa’s get from her first marriage, right? I wanted Arius’ help but he denied it. Together, blood of Sheogorath and blood of Hircine, we might have been victorious.” Madanach sighed gustily. “But it didn’t happen, did it?”

“No, it didn’t. Torygg’s willing to negotiate because you have a mutual enemy.” Laina leaned against the mine wall. “I’m not sure that the Reach can secede from either Skyrim or Empire. It’s a lovely thought, but so was Orsinium. The Bretons wouldn’t allow it. Ulfric could probably sway the moderates of Skyrim with stories about a group of Daedra worshippers on their western doorstep. That’s how he got so much help the first time, you know. The Stormcloaks consider this part of Talos’ holy land.”

“That they do, lass, that they do.” Madanach looked down at what he was writing and then looked up again. “Speak to Braig. Learn the history of your mother’s sins and your grandmother’s people. Then come back to me and we can talk.”

Laina nodded. “Just remember, Madanach, I’m from Bruma. I know what it is like to see your culture and people ground into dust.”

She left the chamber before he could say anything and went straight to Braig.

“We were expecting more lightning,” quipped the Forsworn as she approached.

“Madanach told me to hear your story,” Laina said softly.

“My story, huh? Everyone in Cidhna Mine has a tale. Let's hear yours first. When was the first time you felt chains around your wrists?” Braig tilted his head expectantly.

“Metaphorically or literally? If it’s the former, it was when the Empire found out I was the granddaughter of a traitor. My father’s folk are under indictment, you know that? No position of authority or power. Before Torygg invited me to Skyrim, I was stuck in Bruma under the authority of an absolute fucking idiot.”

Braig snorted. “You and Nepos should commiserate. But I meant literally.”

“Yesterday… Today? Shit, I don’t know.” Laina sighed and looked away.

“So you know what it's like to have your life in someone else's hands. Why should they get to decide? Isn't judgment for the gods?” Braig’s laugh was sour. “Any family other than that Talos-bitch?”

“My father’s possibly plotting to kill the Emperor, my uncle assassinates things for Arkay and I have a few half-brothers,” Laina admitted.

“I had a daughter, once. She'd be twenty-three this year. Married to some hot-headed silver worker or maybe on her own learning the herb trade. The Nords didn't care who was and who wasn't involved in the Forsworn Uprising. I had spoken to Madanach once, that was enough. But my little Aethra didn't want to see her papa leave her. She pleaded to the Stormsword and the Silver-Bloods to take her instead. And after they made me watch as her head rolled off the block, they threw me in here anyway, to dig up their silver.”

Laina swallowed the bile that had risen at Braig’s story. “By the gods, if I ever were to dabble in Conjuration, I could soul trap that woman and condemn her to the Soul Cairn.”

“I'm not Madanach. I was never a leader of the Forsworn. The only anger I can justify is my own. But every family in the Reach has a story like mine. There are no innocent onlookers in this struggle. Just the guilty, and the dead,” Braig finished bitterly.

“Sounds like living in Bruma under the Thalmor,” Laina agreed sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“My daughter is the one who needs your pity. I'm just a poor Forsworn whose only regret is not killing more Nords before I was locked up.” Braig waved her away. “Go back to Madanach. You’re not the Stormsword but you look too much like her for me to bear at the moment.”

Laina returned to Madanach. “I heard Braig’s story.”

“Imagine hearing a story like that, over and over. Each time a different family. Each time a different injustice. Your meddling above ground reminded me of how removed I've been from the struggle. My men and I should be in the hills, fighting,” Madanach answered.

Laina’s eyebrow rose. “You won’t consider some kind of peaceful solution with Torygg?”

“I won’t accept anything less than a member of the royal clans of the Reach on the Mournful Throne before I consider opening negotiations with a kingdom known to screw me and mine over,” Madanach said bluntly.

“Yourself?”

“I’ll settle for almost anyone. Me, Kaie, whatever young pup walks the Path of Red Eagle, even Argis or Bryn and they’re bloody Nords.” Madanach’s smile was thin. “Not you, my girl. You’re god-touched. We try to keep the priests off the throne.”

Laina laughed sourly. “I have no desire to rule, I assure you. So now what?”

“I need a show of loyalty from you. I don't need a shiv in the back while we break out.” Madanach sighed. “Laina, you need to become Forsworn in truth. I need you to have the same blood on your hands – lowlander blood – as we do on ours. It is the oldest rite of adulthood. You’re married to Argis, so you’ve walked the right-hand path. But to be truly considered an adult among the hill-clans, you must deliberately kill. Not in rage or self-defence, but cold calculation. You must walk the left-hand path.”

Laina paled. “You want me to murder someone?”

“Yes. Thongvor doesn’t count… unless you dined with the coven of Namira?”

“I ate dead mer when I spent three days trapped in the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple,” Laina answered with a twist of her lips. “It’s not something I wanted to make a habit of.”

“Fair enough.” Madanach sighed and offered her a shiv. “Kill Grisvar. He’s a mole for the Silver-Bloods.”

Laina’s smile was crooked. “I thought you were going to ask for something hard.”

“Offered to be your protector, eh?” Madanach smiled thinly. “It’s always best when your kill is an enemy of the clan.”

In the end, Laina didn’t use the shiv. She waited until the other prisoners were huddled together in the central chamber before picking her way through the crowd, finding Grisvar curled around a half-empty bottle of skooma, and freezing him solid with Ice Storm. A rock to the head made sure of him.

“Wake up!” Madanach barked. “It’s time!”

The Forsworn rose, rubbing eyes and grumbling, as the King in Rags strode along the ragged line.

“My brothers, we have been here long enough. It's time to leave Cidhna Mine and continue our fight against the Nords. Through this gate, just beside my quarters, is a tunnel. A tunnel that leads right through the old Dwarven ruins of Markarth, into the city. Well, what do you say, my brothers?”

“For the glory of the Forsworn!” they cried in unison.

“Let’s go,” Madanach said to Laina. “While you were dealing with Grisvar, I sent word to a cousin of yours.”

They streamed into the tunnel, making short work of the creatures therein, and just before a copper door they met a lithe young woman with a crest of brown hair and complex tattoos from head to toe.

“Madanach,” she said in a low sweet voice, “I’ve brought what you need.”

“Kaie, my girl, I knew I could count on you.” Madanach waved Laina over. “This is your cousin out of Catriona’s female get.”

“Laina South-Wind.” Kaie gave her an assessing glance. “You’ve caused quite the storm in the hills.”

“I’m not responsible for the Matriarch who disobeyed Madanach or the one who wouldn’t let me access Dragontooth Crater or the Briarhearts who killed Argis’ father and kidnapped the Sybil of Dibella,” Laina said firmly.

“I’m not criticising, cousin. We all do what we have to before Hircine calls us for the final hunt.” She handed Laina a set of Forsworn armour. “That should let you slip out until you can get to Vlindrel Hall. The guard’s occupied.”

Laina donned the armour as the other Forsworn did so. “Oh?”

“I didn’t authorise an attack!” Madanach snapped.

Kaie grinned. “You didn’t, old man. Argis the Bulwark has challenged Igmund to the Mournful Throne. Some old Nord custom.”

Madanach paused in putting on his cuirass. “Argis is of Karthwasten clan.”

“Yes. It… won’t be what any of us wanted. But neither the Empire or the lowlanders will let us be free. But one of our own will sit on the Mournful Throne.”

“That’s something, I suppose,” Madanach said with a sigh. “We should go watch this fight. I’m betting Thonar will plan something.”

“Of course he did.” Kaie grimaced. “He wanted Laina to suffer a bit so she’d be happy to marry him. Seems he had plans for Falkreath and the Reach.”

Laina’s fists clenched, frost forming around them. “If you don’t kill him first, Madanach, he’s mine.”

Kaie grinned. “He’s already dead. Eola got him.”

She nodded to the door. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t be late to the party.”


	12. The Old Stag Versus the Young Stag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism. A moment of silence for Igmund, if you please.

“What the _fuck_ are Forsworn doing in the Keep?”

“Aicantar, language!” snapped Calcelmo absently. He was busy warding his workplace as half of Markarth had trooped into the open space between Nchuand-Zel and the Hall of the Dead to witness Igmund and Argis’ duel. “Of course the Forsworn are here. Everyone else is, disturbing my work, I might add!”

“Blame the Silver-Bloods for that,” Laina South-Wind advised in that low husky voice that might have distracted a lesser mer. “I mean, we’re blaming them for everything else since the Fall of the Reach.”

Someone laughed. “Joined the Forsworn, have we?”

“Well, they’re the least obnoxious and murderous members of my family.”

Distracted, Calcelmo looked up to see the admittedly buxom Laina in… dear gods… No wonder Aicantar was goggling. Maybe he should get a set for Faleen, if he could work up the courage to approach her… No! He wasn’t a pervert.

“Since the future of the Reach is being decided, we invited ourselves,” Madanach, silver-haired and filthy but still holding himself regally, announced as gasps ran through the crowd. “If Argis wins, we will enter negotiations with him to stand down. After all, it’s tacky to make war on a kinsman.”

“Torygg will ratify this, because we have a bigger danger to the east, and that danger is called the Bear,” Laina added pointedly.

Igmund pushed his way through the crowd, accompanied by a reluctant Faleen and a troubled Raerek. “I will pike all of your heads at the gates!”

“Oh no, Igmund. We’ve endured you long enough.” Madanach sighed. “The Silver-Bloods played us all. But that won’t stay our hand if Argis dies today.”

Argis entered the chamber and Calcelmo gave up on warding his workspace. “If you ruin any of my work, I’ll send a lightning bolt up your arse!” he promised direly. When talking to Nords and Reachfolk, one had to use simple words and frequent obscenity.

“How long did you wait?” Igmund demanded of the Thane. “Filthy Forsworn-“

“I recognised the true Ard Ri of the Reach,” Argis said quietly. “But his time has come and gone. I am of the Karthwasten royal clan of the Reach. I am a Thane of the Reach. I’d hoped it would never come to this, but we have no choice if we are to have peace in the Druadachs.”

“Talos should have exterminated you!” Igmund bellowed at the gathered Forsworn. “Every filthy fucking Forsworn-ack!”

Laina’s hand glowed green as she Telekinetically choked Igmund mid-speech. Calcelmo had always noted the woman’s proficiency and finesse with the spell, rare for a human and even more so for a Nord.

“So you admit to worshipping an illegal god?” she asked the Jarl, releasing him. “I didn’t come here just to investigate Dragon Cult ruins, Igmund. I was sent here by High King Torygg to make peace with the Forsworn against Ulfric Stormcloak… and to end the tyranny of the Silver-Bloods.”

“Why would I believe the word of a woman who murdered a Thane of her own High King’s Hold?” Igmund demanded.

“Because if you don’t, you’re a fucking idiot. Then again, you did nothing as the Silver-Bloods espoused treason and illegal monopolies, corrupted a fair part of the guard and pretty much ran the Hold in all but name.” Laina wiped her hands on her thighs. “I didn’t kill Erikur. One of my friends found a stalhrim sword in Thonar’s treasure vault. But my husband is about to kill you. Or did you think that Torygg approving the marriage of a man and woman from the two royal clans of the eastern Reach was a coincidence?”

Calcelmo grunted, impressed. He didn’t think High King Torygg was that smart when he’d met them.

Argis sighed. “Let’s get this over with, Igmund. Unless you’d prefer exile?”

Madanach laughed. “Who’d take him?”

“I will see you dead!” Igmund snarled as he drew his sword and charged at Argis.

For all the grand speeches, it was a bit anticlimactic, to be honest. Argis parried the single strike Igmund managed to make with his shield and then buried his dwarven sword in the join between neck and shoulder. Aicantar made a gagging noise as blood fountained out and Igmund fell forward with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Don’t worry,” Calcelmo assured him. “You get used to it. Nord justice is very… visceral.”

As Argis was pulling his blade from Igmund, Madanach stepped into the circle. “You’ve been made Jarl in the Nord way,” the King in Rags said softly. “Now you must be made Ri in ours.”

Argis blanched. “Ard Ri, I-“

“It’s the way of Hircine, lad. The Old Stag is challenged by the Young Stag.” Madanach smiled fiercely. “To first disablement, I think. Your Laina might just set me on fire if I killed you.”

“If Argis loses anything, so do you,” promised Laina darkly.

“See what I mean?” Madanach accepted a dwarven axe from a lithe Forsworn woman. “Let Hircine judge who is predator and who is prey.”

Neither held back in the duel that followed and the result was closer than anyone expected. Madanach’s age was offset by Argis’ missing eye; his magic was offset by the Bulwark’s shield and Breton blood; his Forsworn style offset by one used to fighting renegades. But the Young Stag defeated the Old Stag by stunning him with a shield-bash and then sweeping his feet out from under him.

“It isn’t your time yet,” Argis said softly as he stepped back. “Rise and live, Madanach. We will have need of you against Ulfric.”

Madanach was helped to his feet by the young Breton woman, wiping his nose. “I suppose a broken nose counts,” he said. “I, Madanach, recognise you as Ri of the Reach. Call yourself Jarl, Ard Ri, whatever you want. But rule our people well, for you are the best of our bloods combined.”

Calcelmo cheered alongside everyone else. The sooner they dispersed, the sooner they could leave him alone to his work.


	13. End of Exile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Final chapter, folks, then it’s back to ‘Lords of Bone and Ash’.

Argis was crowned Jarl of the Reach, the position confirmed by High King Torygg, two months after the duels that had changed his homeland forever. He’d been ecumenical in appointments to his court, Nepos becoming Steward and Vorstag named as commander of a military force that needed to be integrated. Several of the worst guards had wound up dead. For the sake of peace, no one investigated too closely.

One of the first orders he gave was to retract Catriona’s exile.

It was strange to stand once more in Understone Keep wearing her own face again. They were still negotiating what was and wasn’t permissible in the worship of the old gods; after pointing out Imperial laws allowing the Green Pact of the Bosmer, Eola had gotten most of the traditional funeral rites of the hill-clans made legal. Outright eating someone was still forbidden, but the coven of Namira was discreet like that. Daedra worship was legal because it had been allowable in Orsinium and Morrowind. But the worst of the lot were forbidden. Not that any sane Ri wanted Molag Bal or Mehrunes Dagon cultists in _his _realm.

There would be many compromises in the future. But Torygg had kept his end of the promise. The Reachfolk would do their part. Too much rode on it.

Laina was pushing for more clerics of the Right-Hand Gods – the Aedra – to be taught the Reach traditions and brought here. Kynareth was likely to be the most popular behind Dibella as Nord and Breton revered Her as their mother. There were rumours that a priest of Mara would be dispatched from Riften. The Three Mothers were more tolerant of the Left-Hand Gods than most of Their male ilk, so Catriona could live with that.

“This will trigger outright war,” Torygg said gravely as they met in Argis’ Council Chamber. Much to Catriona’s surprise, Ondolemar the Thalmor agent was there, having missed the final part of the coup by being in Solitude. “Ulfric and Sigdrifa will have their justification.”

“They would have found something else regardless,” Ondolemar pointed out. “But now you have two thousand witch-folk with a grudge to throw at them.”

“I’d have thought an outright civil war in Skyrim would please your masters,” Madanach told the elf.

“Some of them, yes. But others prefer to educate humanity with less… violent means.”

“The Emperor will agree to this. The Empire will break if he doesn’t,” Elisif, Torygg’s pretty wife, observed.

“If he doesn’t, Akaviria will,” Laina said quietly. “Something’s coming. Something big.”

**_“She has no idea,”_** Hircine remarked suddenly. **_“Perhaps that is a kindness of the Aedra’s that she is ignorant. Or wisdom.”_**

But He said no more when Catriona asked him inwardly.

“The Hagravens are muttering similar things around their fires,” Kaie confirmed. “That’s why they’re all so conciliatory. Half of them are absolutely terrified and the other half are hoping they can benefit from the new way of things.”

“We’ve received similar warnings from the High Prelate of Akatosh,” Torygg remarked. “I don’t know what he meant by ‘black wings unfurled’, but it sounds dire.”

Ondolemar blanched. Catriona wondered if anyone else noticed.

“The Sybil has indicated as much herself,” Mother Hamal agreed. “Could Ulfric and Sigdrifa be that dangerous?”

“Not in of themselves. But what they may trigger…” Ondolemar’s tone was grim. “Look to the skies.”

They hashed out a rough agreement that everyone signed. Catriona didn’t envy young Torygg his task. He’d have to convince his allied Jarls to accept Argis as one of their own.

Laina was out on the balcony when Catriona approached her. When her granddaughter looked in her direction, the Hagraven realised that the pupils of her eyes were red-green in the torchlight. That was… new.

It had been fifteen, sixteen years since she’d seen Laina. The puppy-fat had gone but she was still a compact, well-fed woman. But the thing that had changed the most was that Laina was no longer scared. She’d been through the fire and come out the other side.

She still hugged the same though.

“When I went to Bruma to teach my only granddaughter something of the old ways, I never expected to find hope for the Reach,” Catriona said as she held Laina at arm’s length. “Whatever else you will do with your life, you have done more than your mother or your father or your grandfathers ever could have.”

“Granma…” Laina wiped at her face. “You were the first family I ever had who wasn’t a selfish piece of shit. I mean, other than Marius…”

“You mean Ondolemar?” Catriona asked.

Laina placed her finger to her lips and the Hagraven took the hint.

“I will still have to continue with the Dragon Cult studies,” she said softly. “The Blades had a prophecy about the return of the World-Eater. Dibella said as much through her Sybil. Skyrim will become kingless, broken, crownless… and then Alduin Himself will return.”

That explained why the elf blanched. He’d been a Blade, or maybe still was even though they didn’t exist.

“Your King Torygg…” Catriona said slowly.

“I will guard him as I can. But Ulfric might send a patsy to challenge him as Argis did Igmund. To remove that law would be to shut down the last desperate move of a Hold troubled by a bad Jarl.”

Catriona smiled. “Maybe we could find someone to overthrow Ulfric like that.”

“It wouldn’t work. The ‘Marcher Thanes are utterly loyal and Ulfric hasn’t made a new one in years.” Laina crossed her arms and looked out over Markarth. “I think they’re waiting for someone to assassinate the Emperor. They’re saying that the Brotherhood has been destroyed, but I know my father Rustem. He isn’t dead. The gods don’t want to deal with him yet.”

“Perfect opportunity,” Catriona said slowly. “We should know.”

She nodded, then sighed. “I will enjoy what time I have with Argis and prepare for the inevitable. It’s all I can do.”

Catriona squeezed her granddaughter’s shoulder. “We can plan a proper wedding. Lowlands ceremonies don’t count up here.”

Laina blushed. “We, um, aren’t married yet. In the beginning, it was a fiction.”

Catriona grinned. “All the better. This way, I know it’ll be done right.”

And so it was.


End file.
